Nutty As a Fruitcake (17 page)

“Vanity,” Phyliss declared as she and Renie started across the street to the car. “Don't you know what the Bible says about vanity?”

“Vanity, my butt,” Renie retorted. “It's an investment. I bought this six years ago and it…”

Judith didn't hear the rest of the argument. She was still standing on the curb. The truck that had sprayed dirty rain water was orange and battered, and bore Oregon license plates. Judith had not been able to get a good look at the driver, although she had sensed that it was a man.

She was certain it was the same pickup truck she had seen parked the previous week across from Mrs. Swanson's house.

“I
WISH
,” J
UDITH
said fervently as she and Renie once again headed down to the bottom of Heraldsgate Hill, “we could get back inside the Goodrich house. I shouldn't have given that key to Patches Morgan.”

“What's to see, coz?” asked Renie as they passed a Metro bus driven by a man in a Santa suit. “That place is creepy with all the blood and gore. What's to do, for that matter? If George denies he killed Enid, isn't it up to the cops to make a case against him? If they can't, then they'll start trying to find the real killer. Maybe that's what they're doing now.”

Judith thought back to the presence of Morgan and Rael at the funeral. “That's possible,” she admitted. “The strange thing about this case is that there's only one real motive—Enid herself. It can't be money, because this is a community property state and nobody gets anything unless George dies, too.”

“Maybe,” Renie said as she barged into the left-hand lane of the one-way street, “George was supposed to die.”

“Then why not take the hatchet to both of them? Or poison Enid? She took enough medication to mask just about anything.” Judith gave an impatient shake of her head. “That's one of the things that isn't logical about this case. If the killer wanted one of the Goodriches to be un
conscious while he—or she—whacked the other one, then why not give Enid the Dalmane? It was her prescription, wasn't it?”

“Was it?” Renie remarked, as she turned the corner to head for the Heraldsgate Hill postal station. Having dropped Phyliss off at Hillside Manor, Renie had offered to drive Judith to the post office. From there, the cousins would head downtown to finish their shopping.

“You're right,” Judith said. “We don't know for sure if the Dalmane was for Enid. We never saw the bottle because the police had taken it away. It could have belonged to anybody. Maybe the bottle itself was never there.”

The line of cars waiting to get into the post office parking lot was eight deep. Renie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “I should buy more stamps. I'd like to mail all my cards by Friday.”

“I'd still like to get into that house,” Judith murmured. “We never saw the back room or the basement.”

“I mailed my foreign cards yesterday,” Renie noted, moving up a notch in line. “Postage is so damned expensive. Every time I drop somebody from the list, I seem to add two more. It costs money to have friends.”

“Of course, Phyliss said the back room was a catchall,” Judith said, lost in thought and growing mesmerized by the swish of the windshield wipers. “I suppose the room hasn't been used since Glenda moved out. That was years ago, though I think that after the divorce she and Leigh stayed with…” Judith snapped her fingers. “That's it! Phyliss and I will volunteer to clean the bedroom!”

Faintly startled, Renie let her foot off the brake. The Chev nudged the bumper of a white Jeep. The driver turned and glared. Renie offered a toothy grin and a helpless shrug.

“You're going to clean the bedroom?” Renie asked. “Ugh! Coz, that sounds grisly.”

“It's a dirty job, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Renie inched forward in the wake of the Jeep. “Well, go ahead. But I wouldn't do it for a million bucks.”

Judith said nothing. She would do it for free. If the police would let her.

 

Joe remained a problem, in more ways than one. By four
P M
the cousins had completed their shopping. Except for Joe. Judith already had purchased a couple of shirts, a leather belt, a pair of casual slacks, and two of his favorite videos. But that special something was still elusive. Joe was a snappy dresser, though his tastes were relatively conservative: double-breasted blazers, dark slacks, a pin-stripe suit, cotton shirts with button-down collars, classic loafers, and the occasional drop-dead tie. His hobbies were books, movies, music, and cooking. Hillside Manor was well-stocked with all those things, including kitchen appliances. Judith was stumped.

She was also feeling remorse: Two days had passed since Herself's phone call. Judith still hadn't given the news to Joe. On a whim, she called the Manhattan Grill and requested a seven-thirty dinner reservation for two. It was there that Judith and Joe had become engaged almost four years earlier. Actually, it was their second engagement, but, as Judith thought wryly, who was counting?

“What's the occasion?” Joe asked when he arrived home shortly before six. “Did I miss your birthday?”

“Of course not,” Judith said with her most enchanting smile. “That was in October, and you gave me a Wacky Vac.”

Joe arched an eyebrow. “And perfume and earrings and a silver negligee that matches your hair and makes me crazy.” He nipped Judith's ear. “So what's going on tonight?”

Picking up the appetizer tray for her guests, Judith evaded her husband in more ways than one. “Just…us. This time of year gets so hectic that I thought it would be fun to have an evening all to ourselves. I don't mind knocking myself out for everybody else during the holidays, but we can use some time off. You've been working too hard.”

Joe didn't argue. There was still no breakthrough in the Shazri case. He and Woody were extremely frustrated. Judith listened to his complaints as she went between the kitchen and
the living room, playing hostess to her guests. Hillside Manor was full on this Tuesday night, mostly with visitors who had come to the city for a marathon day of shopping. It was only after Judith had taken dinner out to Gertrude that she made her suggestion about cleaning the Goodrich house.

“Do you think Morgan and Rael would go for it?” she asked, trying to keep the eagerness from her voice. “It's got to be done, and I know Phyliss would be willing. She used to work there.”

As he looked up from the evening paper, Joe's expression was exasperated. “I don't know what your fixation is about the Goodrich murder. George has had second thoughts, that's all. It happens.”

“Were his prints on the hatchet?”

“I told you, the handle had been wiped clean. That doesn't mean a thing.”

“I think George and Mrs. Swanson are in love.”

“Good for them. That gives George an even better motive.” Joe started to open the local news section of the paper, then glanced at the clock. “Hey, we'd better change. It's going on seven.”

Judith decided not to press the issue. An hour later, they were at a linen-covered table in the Manhattan Grill. The brass fittings and soft leather were enhanced by evergreen garlands and big wreaths tied with golden bows. Judith permitted herself to be enchanted through the first round of drinks.

They had placed their orders by the time the second round arrived. Judith took an unusually large sip of scotch. “Herself is coming for Christmas,” she blurted. “It's not my fault.”

It appeared that Joe hadn't heard Judith. As usual, the restaurant was teeming with customers. They seemed to be in a festive mood, and their laughter reverberated off the mirrored walls and oak paneling.

“I could eat a whole cow,” Joe said, puffing at his cigar. “What did you cook for your mother tonight?”

“Liver and onions.” Judith tipped her head to one side. “Joe? It was Sunday, when you were working overtime, and I got a phone call around…”

Joe was watching a pair of beauteous young women in short skirts exiting a booth. “I know.” He took another puff on his cigar. “Why do girls giggle so much? Is it because they're nervous? Or because they think it's cute? It is, but once they hit twenty-five, they stop.”

Mouth open, Judith stared at Joe. “I've no idea. What do you mean,
you know
?”

The magic green eyes once again rested on Judith's face. “Vivian called me at work last week. I was wondering if she'd have the nerve to go through with it. My guess was that she wouldn't.”

Judith's shoulders sagged. “Joe! Here I've been stewing and fretting and hating myself for not telling you. Why didn't you say something?”

Joe waited until the Caesar salads had been delivered. “Why upset you if she changed her mind?” He paused just long enough to let the thought sink in. “Well? When does the bomb land?”

“The twenty-third, the same day as Caitlin. Oh, Joe, what will your daughter think about all this? Should we tell her?”

“I already did.” Joe forked up an anchovy. “I called her Friday, just in case. Caitlin can handle it. She's remarkably mature. Growing up with an alcoholic mother will either make or break you. It made Caitlin, and she's not entirely ungrateful.”

Judith let out a rippling sigh. “I've been so upset. I should have known everything would be okay.”

Joe's green eyes glinted. “I didn't say
that
. Hey, I'm sorry as hell that Vivian's going to impose on you. But she
is
Caitlin's mother, and we were family for a long time. Don't let it spoil your Christmas. We're all grown-ups.”

Briefly, Judith felt that old stab of envy. Herself had been Mrs. Joseph Flynn for almost a quarter of a century. Judith couldn't quite get over her resentment. She still felt cut off from a large part of Joe's life. In many ways, those twenty-three years had been a wasteland for Judith. But it was Advent, with Christmas fast approaching, and Judith knew that she should rid herself of such ugly feelings.

“I just wish sometimes that I didn't feel like a stranger,” she said in a hushed voice.

Joe frowned. “You aren't. You never were. You were always there, even in the roughest times. Especially then.” He lowered his gaze, concentrating on his salad.

“Oh, Joe!” Judith reached across the table and placed her hand on his.

Joe grinned. “Hell, Jude-girl, there isn't anything you don't know about me. All the fights with my brothers, the downside of breaking in as a rookie cop, the vicious cycle of trying to deal with Vivian—all my hopes and dreams were always tied up in you. The only thing you couldn't give me was my fantasy of being a pilot in World War Two. I'd have loved shooting the crap out of the Luftwaffe.”

Judith's black eyes were wide. “You never told me that.”

“I didn't? I thought I had, years ago, when we booked a room at the Ebbtide Inn and fished from the window, or took a picnic lunch out on a rented tugboat.”

Judith's mind flew back to the halcyon days of their first courtship. Those times had been exciting, romantic, even outrageous. But in middle age, she preferred a quieter pace: watching old movies on TV, playing gin rummy, having dinner in a fine restaurant like the Manhattan Grill. She sighed with contentment.

“I feel so relieved,” she said with a wide smile. “It was silly of me not to tell you about Herself's phone call. It was even sillier to get so upset.”

Joe made a dismissive gesture. “Basically, this is my problem. I'm used to holiday horrors. I'll make sure it doesn't spoil your annual Christmas fantasy.”

The irony in Joe's tone didn't sit well with Judith. But this romantic interlude wasn't the time to say so. Instead, she shrugged. “Okay. Now I can concentrate on Christmas with a free mind.”

The waiter removed their salad plates. Joe looked up from his half-finished scotch. “Can you?” His tone was sardonic.

Judith didn't answer.

 

In the Roman Catholic Church's liturgical calendar, December eighth was the feast of the Immaculate Conception. Thus, Judith and Renie found themselves at the eight-thirty
A
.
M
Mass, which was celebrated by Father Francis Xavier Hoyle amid the entire student body from Our Lady, Star of the Sea Parochial School. Two pupils from each grade read petitions, or rather mumbled, stuttered, shouted, and in one distressing case, fell off the lectern. By the time Mass was over, Judith and Renie were both feeling somewhat less than spiritually uplifted.

Arlene Rankers, however, was energized. “That little Grazini boy—isn't he adorable? I
love
the way he lisps!”

“‘Thar of the Thea'?” Renie mocked, as they exited through the north vestibule. “‘Bleth our letthonth'? What the hell does that mean, Arlene?” It wasn't quite ten o'clock, and Renie was only now becoming fully conscious, though still in a cranky mood.

Arlene evinced annoyance. “You know perfectly well what it means, Serena. I remember when your Tony read the Epistle in fourth grade and his pants fell down.”

“They did not!” Renie countered. “He walked out of his shoes. Your Kevin was the one who stepped on Frances Cabrini Dooley's hem and ripped her skirt off! I always figured he did it on purpose.”

Arlene's blue eyes flashed. “Nonsense! One of the Duffy boys tripped him! What about the time your Tom was an altar server and put his cassock on backwards?”

“At least he didn't drop the chalice like your Tim,” Renie shot back.

It appeared to Judith as if Renie and Arlene were about to square off in the church parking lot. It wouldn't be the first time the two women had almost gone beyond verbal blows. They liked each other a lot, but both were volatile as well as feisty.

Just as Judith tapped Renie's arm, Carl put a hand on Arlene's shoulder. “I like the part where we left the church,” he said at his most pleasant. “Which is what we're going to
do now. Come on, Arlene, let's go home and move the camels.”

Arlene fired a parting shot: “Your Anne made out with one of the Kramers behind the Big Toy on the playground!”

“Your Mugs played doctor with a Paine kid!” yelled Renie. “That was second grade, and man, was he ugly!” Brushing Judith off, Renie nodded. “Okay, okay, I'm done. Mugs wasn't so pretty at that age, either.”

“Your children and the Rankers' kids have grown into good-looking, responsible adults,” Judith said in a reasonable voice. “Why do you and Arlene have to rake up all that old grade-school stuff?”